Crowns and Crosses
by brenli
Summary: [[Period Drama AU]] A Renaissance, a Reformation, blood-soaked and glowing. Holiness. Heretics... They are on the edge of a golden world.
1. The Sun to a Drab and Dreary Moon

_Foreword: The following is a loosely-adapted, Period Drama AU piece. Another ambitious project formed over the years, pulling the majority of its inspiration from shows such as The Tudors and The Borgias._

 _While this has its roots as an Angel Sanctuary gone period drama amalgamation, Italian Renaissance/English Reformation AU, this piece (and the AU as a whole) features Nemaelle Mudou, OC for my Chronicles of the Fallen series. It also features Azreal, OC for Coming of the Seraph, a series written by HaloRecoil, and Zephyrel, OC for Eve of the Earth, a series written by Jael Randell (who long-time members of the readership likely know as the cowriter for CotF's second installment, Layers)._

 _As I go about the process of finally sharing my AU work, I find myself going back and forth as to how much time I should spend explaining correlations and sources. How much can I just expect the readership to either connect or accept? I'm not sure what the answer is, especially for this AU, which is supplanting AS locations with real-world locations, and not in a way that might be construed as… entirely organic or coherent? So, in lieu of my being unsure, I'm going to attempt at briefly indicating correlations below:_

Heaven – Based on Tudor-era England, Wales, Scotland. King YHWH is the ruler of Heaven, with two sons, Princes Lucifel and Michael. It is important to note that King YHWH does not equal God. They are not one in the same. Lady Azrael is a native citizen of Heaven and a frequent attendant of Heaven's court, along with her family.

Hell – Does not exist. Yet.

Atziluth – Based on Rome during the Renaissance. Obviously Atziluth is supposed to be part of Heaven; I've deviated away from that, but Atziluth is by and large considered the center of the Old Faith, and is the home of the Papacy, abbeys run by similarly devout nuns, visitors on pilgrimage... and also many destitute beggars and orphans.

Etemenanki – Based on the Vatican, and the private palaces and apartments of the Holy See during the Renaissance. While Atziluth has become much more accessible for this AU, Etemenanki is highly exclusive (though more accessible than it was in AS). Only the Papacy and those specifically invited by members of the Papacy may enter and stay.

Hades – Based very loosely on Renaissance-era Naples. It is important to note that I took a lot of liberties here, portraying it with a more lax attitude toward religion and not much involvement with the Old Faith. It also, thanks to King Uriel, will have some decidedly Arabic and Ottoman influence scattered here and there, as he is consort to Queen Zephyrel, come from beyond the Mediterranean Sea. Lady Nemaelle, while not a native of Hades, is serving as part of the Queen's household.

Assiah – While not likely to have a huge presence in this AU, it roughly corresponds to the Germanic and Nordic areas of Europe; the area of Europe in which Protestantism was born and where it spread with much success in the 16th century. Lady Nemaelle was born here, but sent far south to Hades to serve as part of Queen Zephyrel's household.

The Old Faith – Based heavily on Catholicism, it (until recently in the AU) has been the chief religious practice of the majority of the countries noted in this AU.

The New Faith – Based loosely on a blurry mix of several things: the rise of Protestantism, humanist principles and skeptical philosophy. It wouldn't exactly be fair to call the New Faith its own separate thing, as especially within the context of the AU, it's much younger than the Old Faith and is still evolving, so not everyone agrees on what it is. In short, the New Faith springs up from the birthing of empirical thought, in asking questions and seeking answers independently instead of through the clergy.

 _Well, here's hoping I never have to write a foreword as long as this, ever again… XD_

* * *

 **Crowns and Crosses  
** _The Sun to a Drab and Dreary Moon  
_ By: Brenli

Would anyone hold it against her, if she found herself daydreaming during these masquerades and dances?

It wasn't that the parties were boring. Never would the Kingdom of Heaven go lightly in their celebrations, no matter what they might have been for. But she was a Lady, after all, and had found herself often invited to court by way of her family. Strange, how the King seemed to think so highly of her parents, and yet she had never met him, herself.

She heard say that there were very few of Heaven's court who had ever seen him, however. Yet he was ever present, overseeing these lavish festivities and all the beautiful courtiers and nobles in their finery. Long cloaks and full skirts, all in satin and velvet, always embroidered, swept across polished wooden floors. Meats and fruits and the finest of wines – said to come from quite near Etemenanki itself – constantly replenished... She thought it odd that the good King never seemed to partake in any of it, himself.

Perhaps he was a watcher... In many ways, she felt the same. Of course, she dined and danced with the best of them, but always she felt... removed. A self-imposed removal in which she would rather read others than fall into any courtly tricks. Even when she found her palm touching the palm of Prince Michael, the younger, fiery-haired son of the King, she kept her smile simple and full of grace. "My Lord," she greeted him, as was to be expected.

"Milady," was his response, and it was every bit as simple and graceful as hers had been. He said nothing more, after that... but the years at court had taught her that was his way. He was similarly... removed. Self-contained, though he seemed to be barring lions within himself, rather than simply watching. There was a reason that those who spoke with him were quite careful with their words, more so than any Prince would demand.

"Lady Azrael," The white lace escaping from a dark gray sleeve damasked in silver brushed across her wrist, as her palm touched the flesh of the elder Prince.

"Lucifel...!" She never forgot her manners around anyone but him. Courtiers whispered that Prince Lucifel was a chilly man, quite like his father, and yet Azrael had never seen that in him. He smiled and spoke with welcoming, friendly tones when they spoke, did he not?

Nor did he ever pay much mind to her lapses in proper address. The familiarity only made him smile more often. Perhaps perpetually. "Lady of gold, this evening?"

Her pale eyes crinkled in amusement. "It is a bit much, but my Lady mother had the fabric sent from Etemenanki itself."

"So far? Your Lady mother treasures you, clothing you in holy gold."

"Holy." Azrael was frank with her distaste in the word. And yet, she had always been frank with him. A Prince, of all things... "Or she desires to make sunbeams out of me."

"And perhaps you are the sun." Lucifel's fingers delicately wrapped around her own, the dance carrying them several strides across the floor. Had she briefly caught the younger Prince rolling his eyes at them, as they'd turned? "And I am a drab and dreary moon."

"Drab?" She laughed. She reveled in the way their laughter sounded when mixed together. "Some drab moon you are, my Lord."

"I confess I am not so drab, no. The sun makes all things glorious."

A short, overwhelmed part of a laugh slipped from her lips, and she exclaimed, "Your Grace has become quite familiar. Is the wine too good? I've yet to drink any!"

"The wine is quite good this evening, or so I have heard." When her dance carried her closer to him, he caught her other palm with his. Steel gray held silver eyes in the kind of gaze that stops the stars from moving across the sky, and he murmured, "We are not familiar enough."

She was a young, ripe 16 to his 17, a maid, and it showed in the roses blooming on her cheeks. "Good friends."

"For years." Lucifel agreed, but courtly love was not enough. He held her gaze even as they bowed, her curtsy sending the golden skirt of her dress in a delicate wave across the floor, and then they stood again. "I would have you turn away from me, Lady Azrael."

A tremble thundered through her, but she obeyed the Prince, knowing what would happen next. She had seen this enough times at court with the other ladies and lords...

The sweeping of her cobalt hair over one shoulder...

The necklace draped around her neck... oh, a most beautiful necklace, such as she had never seen before. Strings of black pearls, separated at every group of five with a golden fleur de lys, and set at the center was a sapphire, laced with gold all around the edges. Jewels fit for a Queen, she was sure.

But she could not prepare herself for the words he carefully whispered to her, as he took his time with the clasp. "You see the maid there, switching out dishes."

"Yes, my Lord..." Remembering court manners had become easier than anything else.

"When the night is over, go to her. She will bring you to my quarters."

The Prince left without waiting for the soft, wavering, "Yes, my Lord," that she hung on the air. Her fingers gently touched the large sapphire that he bestowed upon her, and she could not, for the life of her, remember if she had ever seen him do this with anyone else. After all, there was a reason that the court considered him chilly...

Chilly. A silly word for Prince Lucifel. Azrael felt anything but cold.

†

By the time Azrael stepped into Lucifel's private quarters, she had already nearly come undone. Though she had known the pleasure of his company for many years, she had never gone any further in his quarters than the front room... But the maid brought her through two sets of double doors, and as soon as Azrael's pale eyes settled on the Prince's form, heat touched her all over again.

"Your Grace," The maid said with a curtsy, "The Lady Azrael."

"Leave us." He had shed his doublet, and the soft, white silk of his blouse settled on him in a way that was all too inviting, but he had kept the heavy livery chain of royalty on. It settled wide across his shoulders, reminding her of his station... as though she would need help remembering. Everything about the way he carried himself was that of royalty...

Including the way his fingers traced along her jaw, the way his hands cupped her face as he claimed her lips with his own. He was a Prince of Heaven, and he would have all that he desired.

"I would have this holy gold on my floor." Lucifel was breathless. Azrael could not recall any moment that he had been breathless around her. "You have no need of it."

"I should like to keep the necklace on, my Lord..." She quivered at the feel of the golden fabric pooling at her feet, at his hands running through the delicate ties holding her corset together.

He laughed in her ear, so unlike the laughter he normally shared with her. Soft and secret. "Call me by my name and my name only, and you may keep my gift to you around your neck..."

His command had turned out easy to obey, though in the heat of his bedsheets and his body, Azrael had thought to cling onto his title. To use it as a sailor uses an anchor, trying to keep steady. Yet when there was nothing on his body but his royal livery and nothing on hers but that necklace, she knew there was no hope for either of them. They were lost at sea. All they could do was rock together as the waves overtook them.

Perhaps the evening had begun too quickly, though Lucifel's fingers already made her body crash once, spurring cries from her. "Luc...!" His name was incomplete within her mouth, but she could call him no more than that. She could say nothing else as she felt him settle between her legs, felt the length of him push deep into her and still.

She had wondered if this was not the Prince's first time inside of another. He had been entirely confident, sure of every caress and kiss he made... but the look on his face said differently. Azrael had never seen his eyes both half-lidded and bewildered like this, had never seen his mouth drop open before...

"Our first." Lucifel's voice was a sigh that Azrael hoped to hear for the rest of her days. Never before had anything or anyone overpowered him, never before had his voice ever betrayed such a thing.

"Yes..." She responded in kind, her lips brushing across his own. "No one has known me but you. I am honored to be the only one you have known..."

Azrael spurred a smile out of him, drunk on the feel of her, and what he couldn't convey with his words, he conveyed with his body.


	2. To Fall, and be Cast Out

**Crowns and Crosses  
** _To Fall, and be Cast Out  
_ By: Brenli

"Do you never tire of my gift to you?"

Azrael's smile was soft, sweet and warm in the pale light of day, streaming in through the velvet curtain the Prince tied aside. "Am I meant to say yes, Your Grace?"

He turned to face her, his black pants sagging loosely at his waist, as the lacing was left undone. He wore nothing else, the livery cast aside in the middle of the night. She wore nothing, either... nothing but the string of black pearls with the large sapphire. "You have worn that necklace every day since I have given it to you. Do you not have any other jewels to wear?"

"None of importance." They shared a smile, joking but truthful, and she held her bare arms out to him. "Come here..."

No one but she could have plainly commanded him so, and Lucifel found himself reveling in such a fact, the past two weeks. His response was instantaneous, striding back into the bed, a growl leaving his happy lips as he pounced onto her. Through a cloud of her beautiful laughter, he asked her, "Shall I give you more jewels, perhaps?"

Azrael shook her head, her blue strands fanning across the pillows and catching the light. "I have no need of them."

"Did I ask if you had need of any?"

Her voice was challenging as she asked him, "And what would you have me wear, Luc?" She was careful not to use the name around court, but in the safety of his bedroom, she could never stop herself.

"I know not..." Lucifel answered, softly wondering, and yet he found his fingers brushing her hair back, his eyes fixated on the crown her head.

"The King...!"

Silver eyes, gray eyes, both pairs widened at the announcement of King YHWH. Oh, as a Prince of Heaven there were none who could dare to enter his private chambers so abruptly... none but him.

Lucifel immediately stood, pulled tight on the lacing of his pants and tried to knot it with one hand while the other grabbed his blouse and pulled it onto his body.

"Luc, I...!" Azrael already grabbed her petticoat, her hoop skirt, diving into them. Where was her corset? Even if she found the accursed bit of clothing, she could never lace it up in time-

The doors swung open, and she could do little more than pull the bedsheets up to cover her bosom. For the first time ever, she laid eyes on the King, and was surprised to see he was nearly covered head to toe, wearing a mask of gold. Leprosy...? But he didn't carry himself like a leper. All Az could define him by was the river of fiery red hair that fell from his head, slicked back, and the chilly gray eyes that she could barely discern through the mask.

King YHWH was fearsome to behold.

The King's eyes turned away from Azrael, and she felt compelled to follow his gaze to Prince Lucifel, who dropped his livery chain around his neck and promptly bowed. "Father." He greeted evenly, calmly, and when he stood, his entire countenance had changed. His hair was mussed, his clothes untidy, his Princely chain crooked and drooping too low... but his body planted itself, rigid and proud, and his face...

Lucifel's face was every bit as impersonal as YHWH's golden mask. Strangely like a carbon copy, made of flesh... and Azrael got the distinct impression that this was a face Lucifel had learned very long ago to mimic in the presence of his father.

"Are you finished, here?" There was no inflection in that deep voice... a condemning kind of voice, that offered no chance of salvation.

"Yes." Lucifel was entirely too good at mirroring the voice of the King.

"Come with me." As quickly as King YHWH had shown himself, he left.

The ruffling of cloth, the relacing of his pants, the tink of metal links in his chain... it all came through painfully loud in Azrael's ears. "... Luc."

He said nothing, slipping into last evening's doublet. He was in a hurry to leave... why wouldn't he be, with YHWH giving the command?

Nonetheless, Azrael tried to grab his attention one more time. Just... one more smile. Something. Just one more... "Your Grace."

"The servants will see you out." He stepped out of the room, hands quick to slick back his dark hair. He never so much as looked back at her...

†

It had only been morning when Azrael left her less-than-admirable impression on King YHWH, and since then she paced frantically in the quarters set aside for her family. The Guard had been given the order to bring her straight there, and she'd found the rooms empty, save a note from her brother:

'Pack your belongings.'

Were they really being sent away from court for this? Surely there was some scrap of information she was not yet privy to... Perhaps the note was written in jest. No one else had packed a single thing...

She completed yet another circle in the main room before striding to the window and pulling aside the curtain. The sun had begun to droop low in the sky, nearly sunset...

"Why have you not packed?"

"Brother...!" She turned toward Ezekiel and wasted not a moment more. "What is the meaning of all this? Why this note?"

Ezekiel's aquamarine eyes widened incredulously at his sister. "Why this...? The note was so you would pack your belongings! What else would the note be for?"

"But why?"

"Why do you think?"

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, Ezekiel wearing a cross little frown. Far better than the blankness of that golden mask, and the way Lucifel mirrored it so well... "Ezekiel... Brother, I would hold counsel with the King."

He scoffed.

She continued. "That I might explain-"

"What is there to explain? You allowed Prince Lucifel between your legs. King YHWH wants no such women at court!"

"As though there are no other such women at court?"

"None that lie with Princes."

"A Prince may have whatever he desires!"

"Oh, is that what you thought?" Ezekiel's firm voice rattled the cage that his sister suddenly felt dropped into. "King YHWH is a King of the Old Faith. He will have no women of ill morals around his sons!"

"What ill morals? Prince Lucifel had been courting me! For two weeks, now, we have been together! Where are my ill morals, brother?"

"Hardly a basis for betrothal, and dear sister, please tell me, when have you ever heard of a Prince orchestrating his own betrothal? When?"

Azrael could feel the scowl pulling on her lips, and she despised it. She missed smiling. She hadn't realized how often she'd been smiling, as of late. "... We live in a changing world, brother."

"Please." He retorted, pulling out the cases that had once held Azrael's belongings. "You realize that if you had kept your legs closed for perhaps one more year, maybe...!"

Now the scowl even pulled on her brows, pinching them together in confusion. "One more year...?"

"Why does any man with growing children choose to spend so much time at the mercy of a King?" He pulled open closets and drawers. "Especially a King like YHWH?"

"... Ezekiel... I know father had hopes that you could one day be Chancellor, but-"

"You never once thought that he might try to grab more power by using you? By betrothing you?"

This time Azrael's voice cracked at the very idea. "To Lucifel?"

"Does it really matter which brother? Either would have granted more power than I can even begin to fathom!" He sighed, realizing that his voice had raised to the point of yelling at his dear sister. "But none of it means anything, now... You've lain with one too early. You've ruined your chances for either."

She could think of no possible thing to say, other than a meek, "Brother..."

Perhaps, when they were children, such a word could have made Ezekiel melt... but not now. "Pack your things. Tomorrow morning you will leave for Hades."

"Hades!" That was further even than Etemenanki...!

"You are to serve at court, there. From what I understand you will be part of the Queen's household. Make good use of your time and you just might be able to save your grace when you return here."

"That won't be for at least three years, brother!"

"Hopefully enough time for the court to forget about how the King walked in on his son on top of your naked body!" He snapped at her. "Now pack! You should consider yourself fortunate that the King will even allow your presence at tonight's banquet."

"A banquet? For what?" After how horribly the day had unfolded, she couldn't begin to imagine what there was to celebrate.

"I couldn't say. We were excused from the King as soon as it was agreed that your time away in Hades would qualify as a perfect penalty."

A... perfect penalty? Azrael could think of no words to express her outrage, anymore. All she could do was pack.

†

Somehow, she felt she should have known that the banquet would be about the positions being granted to the two Princes of Heaven. She should have known. The... 'transgression' with Lucifel surely prompted King YHWH to take measures to expedite the futures of his sons.

Her one consolation? It did not involve any sudden betrothals to other women. No, each Prince was as unattached as before... Unless one said that Lucifel was less attached than before.

He certainly seemed that way. King YHWH, as usual, was not present for the celebration, leaving the elder Prince to guide the feast, to make the announcements. Perhaps it was not fair of Azrael, to be... progressively angrier at the man. He had little time to socialize...

But he sat at the highest chair, the chair that should have gone to his father, with a face of stone and a voice of empty finality, and she...

Prince Lucifel had just finished toasting to his new title as Chief General of Heaven's army and navy, when a courtier began to whisper in his ear. A strange title for Lucifel, she couldn't help but think. Not that he couldn't perform admirably in that position... Oh, she knew he would do quite well. He would keep the country safe. Only... his fiery-haired brother spent so much more time with the Knights and the sailors. It was Michael who frequently participated in the sword fights and the jousts... even the archery. It was Michael who always seemed to inform the court of new weapons and techniques, even from far overseas... Not Lucifel. And where was the younger Prince, anyway? His chair had been vacant all this time...

The courtier bowed and quickly left, and Lucifel resumed speaking. "It appears that I will not have to wait to speak of the great news regarding your Second Prince." He stood, and with a simple gesture of his hand, the double doors opened to let Michael into the room.

Azrael had been fuming over how ridiculously like YHWH Lucifel had become ever since that morning, but when she laid eyes on the fiery-haired Prince, she saw another part of YHWH reflected in him. Lucifel called upon all the hollow composure... Michael reminded her of all the fire that ran through YHWH's blood. The King kept it neatly contained where the younger Prince struggled to, and Azrael could see the lions barred inside of him, desperately trying to claw out of his skin. He moved down the aisle created by the two lines of tables, stalking like a predator, eyes looking so much more green than before, his mouth an unhappy line across his face.

He was livid, and the reason why became all too clear when he had stopped a respectable few paces away from Lucifel's position at the head of his table. "Prince Michael has been granted the honorable and most holy good fortune of taking the cloth and joining the Papacy as a Bishop, which he has graciously accepted."

There was nothing honorable or fortunate or gracious about this announcement, and everyone in that room knew it. Not once in all of Michael's life had he expressed an interest in the priesthood. He attended Mass, participated in the Eucharist, had his appointments for Confession, but it was no more than any other person at court would do. This was a lie. This was a position forced upon the younger Prince. The realization went unsaid, and the silence did all the speaking for the poor Second Prince. The pouring of wine into goblets rang too loud, and Lucifel's cup scraped against the table in a way that grated before he held it up for a second toast.

If Lucifel's cup had hurt the ears, Michael was merciless, dragging his chalice against the metal of the serving platter held out to him before he held it up in kind. Still not a single syllable had left his lips, though if he'd meant to say anything, now would have been the time.

Lucifel did not let the silence carry on for any longer than a single breath. "To Michael, the Bishop Prince of Heaven. May your life with the Lord God be full of purity, of celibate bliss." Azrael thought she caught the faintest whisper of a smile at Lucifel's lips. A mean smile? A dry smile... A bitter smile.

His choice of words had nearly unleashed the lions growling inside of Michael, and it showed in how fierce his eyes had become, in the way his nostrils had flared to let in a hopefully-calming breath of air. In the way the corners of his mouth had also, briefly, turned up in what might have been a smile or a sneer. Lucifel drew his goblet to his lips to take the required sip, and Michael joined him, though he only wet his lips on his cup. This was not a toast he wanted to welcome... and though he had tried to contain himself, his control slipped when he unceremoniously slammed his cup onto the serving tray, wine sloshing out of the chalice and splashing on the platter.

Michael left before anything worse could happen, though the angry green of his eyes seemed to seek Azrael out, seemed to hold her gaze with a glare that felt threatening right up until he passed her. Was the new turn in his life somehow her fault? How? Why? Because she had given herself to his brother? She turned an angry, hurt glare of her own toward Lucifel, but apart from the slight frown that he pretended to hide behind a casual hand, she got not a single emotional cue from him...

"Milady Azrael." A servant whispered from directly behind her, and her already raw nerves burst aflame, making her jump. She turned and recognized him as the very same one who had whispered to Lucifel, likely to inform him of Michael's presence at the doors. "His Grace Prince Lucifel wishes to speak with you in private."

Oh, did he? Would he be this hollow shell of a man sitting in his chair, or would he be the Prince she had been with this morning? "A Prince receives all that he wishes for, does he not?"

"... Milady?" The servant said with a nervous quiver, as Azrael dimly heard Lucifel excuse himself, encouraging the people to continue partaking in the banquet as he retired for the evening.

"Take me to him."


	3. Farewell, Lover

**Crowns and Crosses  
** _Farewell, Lover  
_ By: Brenli

"Your Gr-"

"I suppose it is too much to expect that you might have me brought to the usual place, is it not?" After the day's events, after the way he reacted – or perhaps, didn't react – Azrael had no room in her heart for courtly manners.

Worst of all?

Prince Lucifel did not seem even slightly surprised, though the servant behind them stammered and bowed awkwardly. "Leave us." The usual command he gave to anyone who brought Azrael to him...

She chose not to wait for the doors to close. What was there to hide, now? "Perhaps your bedding is being washed; perhaps that is why you bring me to a chilly balcony!" His hands reached out to her, fingertips along her collarbones, and she stepped back. Azrael could not remember a single time she had ever rejected him, until now.

"Azrael..." For the first time since that morning, some semblance of feeling caught in his voice. A pity it seemed more of tiredness than joy.

"I would ask that you speak shortly with me; I am to leave court tomorrow morning!"

"I have heard this, yes. I have no desire to be brief, Azrael."

She curtsied deeply to him, bowing her head to hide her moody frown. "Then I must bid you good night, my Lord, for I have need of rest."

"You still wear the necklace, even now." Lucifel cut the air with his words, ignoring her own, watching as she stood and strode for the doors.

"A habit! One I suppose I should seek to break!" Her fingers curled into the elaborate golden handles of the doors, pausing when he pressed his back against the wood, one perfect, Princely arm held out to keep them from opening.

Silver eyes caught and held the gaze of steel gray ones, challenging and fearless. "Why are you angry with me?"

"Why am I...?" Azrael had already snapped at him, but she could hold back no more, her hands balling into the black velvet of his doublet and shaking him, shoving him. She would have liked to tear him wide open. "How many hours did you spend holding counsel with your father?" He tried hard to hold firm, and it showed in the tenseness of his jaw, in the flashes of sharp steel in his eyes. Good. She wanted that. She would stir demons out of him, if she could. "Most of the day, did you not? And was it all for me?"

"I couldn't say." Lucifel spoke through her rough handling, "Many subjects tangled together, but you were one of them, yes."

"And I suppose it was then that you heard I would be sent away? You learned of my exile even before I!"

The Prince's hands grasped onto hers, willing her to stop. "This is no exile, Azrael! You are being dramatic."

"Were there worse fates that I escaped?" She asked in a doubtful hiss. "I suppose your father would have had me sent to the tower for laying with his son!"

"No. No one is sending you into any tower. Listen to yourself!"

But Azrael spoke over his raised voice. "Then tell me, how did you fight for me? Or did you fight for me, at all?"

A frustrated frown began to tug harder on Lucifel's lips. "Fight for you, Azrael? How?"

She knew it. She'd known it since the moment her brother informed her of her penalty... and she could not keep from striking his face. Had anyone ever brought their hand to Lucifel's handsome face, to his smooth cheek, the way she just had? A flash of rage crossed his face. She found herself enamored with it, her hands pummeling hard on his chest, hoping to bring out more. "For hours upon hours you could have argued to keep me with you, and you did not fight for me? I cannot fathom what things King YHWH claimed of me, and you did nothing! You had nothing to say?"

"What would you have me do?" His voice was all Princely power, regal and commanding, shiver-inducing, angry just as she was angry. "The King's will is ironclad, and I must agree with all that he deems best for the good of my royal family. I had no choice!" If he meant to say more, her responding slap killed every last word.

"You had every choice!" Her fists returned to pounding on the muscles of his chest, her knuckles knocking hard against his royal chain. "So the First Prince who will inherit Heaven is a weak-willed coward, is that it?"

"Azrael, stop it." Lucifel spoke firm, even in the face of her accusations.

"Where is your strength, Luc? Where is your bravery?" In the struggle to grab her pummeling hands, she'd torn the delicate white lace about the sleeve of his blouse, and she loved it. "Your conviction?"

"Enough!"

"Where is your love for me?" A choked up, upset, angry cry slipped from her mouth and into his as he managed to kiss her, to trap her wrists in his hands.

"Enough." Prince Lucifel said nothing more than this for a long, miserable moment. "Enough..."

The embers of her anger seared her from within, made her words painful. "I shall be away for years. I know not how many, Luc."

The Prince replied with all the cool tones her burning heart needed. "Yes... but you will return. You will come back to court, with stories to share with me."

"Do you promise?" Azrael's eyes turned up to him, tired and doubtful, fluttering shut when Lucifel's fingers brushed along her chin.

"That is not my promise to make..." He spoke quietly, thumb following the curve of her lip. "Women seem to find themselves carried every which way, with the wind... and men are stagnant."

"Not Princes," she countered, "Not Princes who have been made into Generals of their armies."

"A position my father had always meant to grant me."

"Princes who may find themselves betrothed to strangers."

For the second time, Lucifel silenced her with lips upon lips. This time softer, drawn out. He took his time to relish their remaining few kisses before she would leave him... "Not this Prince."

Azrael read every detail of his face, the firm line of his jaw, the sharp steel of his eyes. "And is this a promise the First Prince of Heaven can make to me?" She watched the mask slip over his face again, that fleshy mirror of King YHWH's carefully blank sheet of gold... And when she stepped away, this time, he didn't pull her back.

She curtsied. She could not find the will to speak her farewell...

And neither could he, though he bowed in return, low, arms spread out wide and regal as she slipped out of his life.


	4. Farewell, Brother

**Crowns and Crosses  
** _Farewell, Brother  
_ By: Brenli

The First Prince of Heaven may have already had his private farewell with the Lady Azrael, but a public farewell was still in order... The whole affair had been quiet, distant, with him wearing the same impersonal face as the King. He tried not to let that bother him. He had already given his own goodbye the night before, after all. And surely, after the misfortune that had befallen them, Azrael understood too well that this was the way of the royal court of Heaven...

So he watched as the Lady Azrael silently curtsied to the King, to himself, to his brother, the sapphire necklace glinting in the light. Watched as she crossed the courtyard to the carriage which would carry her away to a place he had only ever heard about in idle conversation. Things about new ideas and new books. He'd heard that the Holy Bible had been translated into Enochian, there, and that any literate man could read it with ease...

He watched as the horses whinnied and trotted off.

"Now, that has been settled."

Lucifel mirrored his father's hollow tone to perfection. "Yes, it has."

Dark boots scraped at the ground as the Second Prince turned to leave, but even he had to give pause when YHWH spoke.

"Michael, you have worn black for your departure."

"A cleric's color; I had thought you would approve." His face held the blush of wine about his cheeks, and his teal eyes seemed to take on the tint of green that often occurred when addressing their father.

Yet the King remained as unmoved as always, his words coming across as careless, apathetic. "It is almost the sort of doublet your brother would wear."

"Only almost." Michael could not, would not relegate himself to another moment in his father's presence. Why should he? Too much morning wine made his footfalls unsteady, and he didn't try to hide it, even as he strode back into the palace with his spine straight, his shoulders back, his hands balled into tight fists.

"Brother." Lucifel's voice came from behind him, calm in a way that aggravated him. "I would have you walk with me."

"You are trailing behind me. You may walk with me, if you like!"

"You have been drinking."

"Correct."

Lucifel watched the slight sway in his brother's rigid, regal posture, and reached out to take the dark sleeve of Michael's doublet. "You would make a fool of yourself upon entering Etemenanki."

One of the internal bars keeping lions locked inside of Michael must have been knocked free, enough for one to swipe out, catching Lucifel's arm and throwing it aside. "Touch me again, brother, and I will strangle you with your livery!"

Prince glared at Prince, rage flaring differently in each royal face. "Try it, little brother." Lucifel's voice was low and cold. "Try it with the wine warping all that you see."

"Little brother." Michael spat at Lucifel's dark boots and pushed him away. "A meager 5 seconds and I am your little brother!" Servants and nobles alike gave the twins a wide berth as they moved deep into the palace, straight through to Michael's private quarters, with him ranting every slightly unbalanced step of the way. "Perhaps it is a good thing that I am being sent away to a glorified abbey! Perhaps your shadow does not stretch all the way to Atziluth!"

"And how would the Papacy react?" Lucifel watched his brother hurry to the decanter full of wine, watched him pour the red liquid into a goblet that had previously been knocked onto its side. "To see their newest arrival, a noble! And he is having a child's fit?"

"I suppose they will sigh about pampered Princes!" A pile of chests and bags sat in the middle of the sitting room, and Michael lost every bit of royal grace as he collapsed on top of them, taking a healthy swig of wine. He planted his boots on polished wood and relished being able to move without cumbersome, heavy Bishop's robes to restrict him. "And they will bear me, just as I will bear them."

His brother looked like a petulant fool, and Lucifel scoffed at him for it. "Yes, I suppose a horrible life awaits you, in Etemenanki. To be in the company of the King of Kings seems a difficult task!"

"If you are so enamored with the prospects, why don't you appeal to father about a change in whose fate belongs to whom?" Michael asked him, the wine heating his face and making all the lions barred inside of him roar.

"You're ridiculous."

"No more ridiculous than you are. You take a woman for your bed by attracting her with shining rocks!" Already his cup ran empty. Already he refilled it. "You thought father would not have noticed? You weigh her down with jewels befitting a Queen!"

Perhaps that was too deep, too personal, too soon. Lucifel slapped the goblet from his brother's drunken, sluggish hand, sending wine across the floor. "You have had far too much to drink, brother!"

"Have I? Soon enough all the wine I drink will be consecrated and turned to blood! I should have as much simple wine as I can possibly hold!" Michael drank straight from the decanter. "And you will stay here with little more than a slap on the wrist! Maybe you have learned better, at least. You will know not to give these silly women jewels they don't deserve!"

Lucifel grabbed onto the decanter, but his brother held tightly to it. "And you know much about taking lovers, don't you, little brother?"

"Lovers." The word was a sneer. "Is there a romantic hiding under all that iciness? Sentiment? You loved the Lady Azrael?"

The First Prince released the decanter to stand straight, looking down his nose at Michael with chilly hatred.

"Ah yes. There it is. Father's mask, put on your face." Michael supposed that others would find it frightening... but he had spent all his life under the gaze of such a face. "Do yourself a favor. Use that face with every other woman you might take. They will remember that they mean nothing to you."

"I suppose this is a face you practiced with the Lady Bal?"

The Second Prince had been in mid sip, and he spit it back into the decanter with laughter. "Perhaps when I had the power-hungry whore banished from my rooms. I would tell you to go ahead and try her, but I'm sure she'll come to you before you go to her." Such an admission should have been locked behind his lips, but the wine made him careless, and he loved it.

"Words I thought I'd sooner hear from Lord Raphael." Lucifel commented dryly.

"How do you think I learned she had spread her legs for more than half the court?" He replied in a grumble, lifting the decanter to his lips before hesitating. "... It kills me, you know. The irony. That you stand here, shining Prince that you are, but it is I that will be made into a holy man!"

Lucifel shook his head at his red-haired twin and reasoned coldly, "Father sends you there and, I'm sure, believes that it will change you for the better."

He expected the responding anger. They were alone, and he was full of wine. "You're sure! How are you sure? Did father tell you?" Michael stood, swayed momentarily. "No, dear brother, let me tell you why things are the way that they are! One day, Father finds his favored son sinning, falling into lust, and who does he turn suspicious eyes toward? His imperfect, floundering Second Prince! And he thinks of every time I have ever stumbled before him, and he fears that you may soon do plenty of stumbling of your own. And so he banishes those he deems a threat to your shining perfection. The woman to some far off corner of the world where perhaps, she will disappear! And his imperfect son to a gilded cage, where he can glean some worth from my Bishop robes, and keep me from tarnishing you!"

"And did father tell you all of that? Utterly ridiculous!"

"Is it? You think of our father and answer your own claim! Is it ridiculous? Why is the Lady Azrael gone, brother? Never once have I ever said I wanted to enter the Priesthood, and even if I had, why did he not send me to an abbey at that moment? Why is it now that he sends me away? The very same day your lover leaves!" Michael watched his brother's lips thin in his cold mask of a face. "If there is anything ridiculous about these events, Lucifel, it is that I am to be punished for your transgression. So I will drink, and I will bid you leave my room before I bloody your face like the blasphemous Prince I am."

Lucifel felt a rage of his own, burning so intensely, it felt cold in his veins. Maybe he wouldn't have minded a brawl with his brother... and yet, for every acidic, wine-laden word that had shot out of Michael's mouth like arrows, he knew the anger was not for him. Not truly. "I'm not rising to your childish taunts, Michael."

"You never do. You're better than that."

"Michael." He waited for his brother to focus on his face before he allowed himself to quietly continue. "For what it may be worth, I am sorry."

"My Lords." A servant at the door bowed, though his voice was soft and careful not to provoke either Prince. "The carriage that will bring Prince Michael to Etemenanki has been made ready. If your belongings are packed, I am here with others to carry them down."

The fiery-haired Prince made a weak wave in the direction of the pile of chests and bags, and poured the remaining wine from the decanter into his mouth, running empty. He hoisted a bag made of rich, royal purple velvet over his shoulder, motioning for the servant to come forward with a jerk of his head, and gave his brother a low grumble:

"It isn't worth much."


End file.
